


your happy ending is up to you

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Canon Continuation, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: Paris storms the castle, Escalus is wounded, Rosaline and Benvolio hold onto him, Isabella tries to survive, Stella is lost, and Livia saves them all.Post-Finale conclusion.





	your happy ending is up to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wallyallens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallyallens/gifts), [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts).



> Dedicated to Meg, who beta-read this and let me yell random things at her which encouraged me to finish. Go read her (much better) version of post-finale fic because she is MEGA TALENTED and she inspires me to write more too.
> 
> To Jess, who I know had an awful day and even if she's not even really part of this fandom, I hope seeing a gift in her inbox will brighten her day anyway.
> 
> And to all of my lovely readers, even though I should probably be writing for myself, I really do this for you. So thank you.

They don’t stop moving until they’re outside the city walls.

“We shouldn’t leave - the city is undefended - Paris can - ” Escalus trips over words and his feet, even as both Rosaline and Benvolio hold him up. “I should - ”

“You need to heal, Your Grace,” says Rosaline. She doesn’t look at him, just forward, but Escalus understands; he’s bleeding and helpless - Rosaline is too good to just leave him.

And Benvolio - 

“We need to find a safe place to spend the night.” 

Benvolio is too good as well.

His chest aches. “You should leave me in the castle, head over - make sure Livia and Isabella are safe - ”

Rosaline and Benvolio ignore him; they keep moving forward.

(Benvolio pulls the arrow straight from his chest and Escalus can’t look away when Rosaline gently wipes away blood from Benvolio’s hands.)

  
  
  


Once Paris leaves, Livia convinces the masked soldiers that they do not need to physically hold onto her. This is partially because it’s stifling and because she’s nice, but mainly because her arms hurt.

When they lead her to a carriage, a box of her clothes in a servant’s hands, Livia shakes.

Her heart worries only just slightly for herself - for her future, with a man who loves her but who hates everyone else, who treats her like a princess, but treats everyone else like scum -

She worries mostly for Rosaline.

The soldier to her left roughly pushes her toward the carriage. Perhaps Paris had told them to be gentle - technically, Livia thinks, she’s their Princess, isn’t she? - but she almost trips over the dirt. Frowning, she sends a glare his way before pulling herself up and into the carriage. 

But before she can slide the curtains closed, someone screams.

It’s rough, scared, mostly anguished - and a vague memory haunts Livia, because she recognizes the scream. Maybe not the person - not at first - but the emotion - 

It sounds like her mom, sobbing over the bloodied body of her father, yelling about  _ Montagues _ and  _ death _ and  _ cursed scoundrels _ \- 

Livia jumps out and  _ runs _ . She runs towards the screams, before any of Paris’ men know she’s escaped. The screams stop, but there’s fire rising from the center of the city, more noises,  _ other _ yelling - 

And then Livia falls against the wall, hiding in the shadows - because she recognizes the Royal Guard.

She also recognizes the sobbing figure in the center of the guard, holding herself tightly, shaking and upset. Livia feels her heart break at the sight - she remembers Isabella, younger and carefree, eager to rule and naive to expectations, regal and ready and radiant - 

And now, with tears running down her cheeks and ash in her hair and stains on her dress - 

Livia wants to run to her.

She stops herself, however, when she sees silver - a blade, from one of the soldiers - but not facing outwards, outside the circle, to protect the princess -

The knife - heading  _ towards _ Isabella - 

“KNIFE!”

Livia screams, drawing attention of soldiers and princesses alike; but her eyes are focused - on her friend, on  _ the princess _ . And Isabella recognizes her immediately, before diving outside the circle of armor and shields, away from the knife - as the betrayer is surrounded by loyal men.

And Isabella runs, towards her, her eyes suddenly alight.

“Oh god,  _ Livia! _ ”

Isabella grabs her in a tight embrace. Livia just holds on.

  
  
  


They leave Escalus by a tree in a random clearing, far enough from the city gates to not attract attention to a fire. Too weak to move much without help, Escalus stays put.

So Benvolio and Rosaline search for firewood.

Together.

Alone.

Benvolio cracks first.

“You’re my friend,” he says, arms full of wood, Rosaline freezing halfway bending. She straightens slowly, adjusting the wood in her arms. “Before - before anything else, you’re my friend.” Benvolio steps closer. “I don’t think - I’ve told you - that’s important to me.”

Rosaline feels a smile tug at her lips. “You’re my friend too.” She steps closer to him. Her voice wavers, softer almost, but she keeps her gaze level with his. “I - I’m so sorry - if Escalus hadn’t - ”

Benvolio drops the wood at his feet, steps over it, and is in front of her in an instant; his hands likely move without his thinking, and Rosaline gasps - his hand in her hair is familiar, a memory now, a reminder - her lips tingle, but Benvolio’s eyes are clear.

“But he did.” Benvolio searches her face; Rosaline swallows, arms aching and forearms blistering from splinters. But his eyes - “And now we’re here.”

“We are.”

Rosaline feels a single heart beat - and then the wood in her arms is on the ground, because Benvolio kisses her, and she kisses back, and there are no bars between them, no tears, just his lips on hers, his fingers in her hair tethering her to the moment, to him, to how her insides want to explode and crawl around him, embrace him, be apart of him all together - 

And then her lungs burn a little too, so she moves her lips to his jaw and he drips down her neck. Rosaline grins and giggles. “Not  _ here _ \- not  _ now _ \- ”

“When then?” Benvolio almost growls, and Rosaline resists the urge to choke out a laugh. “God,  _ you _ \- ”

“Harpy? Capulet?”

Benvolio stops kissing her neck and brings his face to look at her. She lets her fingers give into their itch - she strokes his cheek, the dirt and blood on his stubble coating her hand too, but he’s there and he’s real, so she doesn’t mind. Benvolio slides on hand from her side all the way up to hold the hand on his face. “Rosaline.” She pauses, frowning, since his eyes are serious now. “You know - you know how I feel. But if you don’t want - ”

Rosaline rolls her eyes before he even really begins, and kisses him, swallowing his idiotic words and returning her own promises and confessions. When she stops, leaning her forehead against his, whispering against his lips and tickling his nose with her voice, Rosaline keeps her eyes closed. “Enough, okay? You and me. We have enough to deal with right now - but you and me? We’re in this together. So trust me.”

Rosaline only opens her eyes when Benvolio separates himself from her, picking up all the firewood at his feet. Without a word, he fills her arms with it, kissing her on the forehead with a tiny smile. He lifts the remaining wood further back where he originally dropped it and waits for her to join him in step.

Only when they can see the outline of the prince does Benvolio speak. “I trust you too,” he says, stepping in front of her, completely serious. 

And then he turns and leaves her to choose to stay or follow.

She follows, biting her lip and smiling.

  
  
  


After seconds, Livia pulls back. “We need to move.”

Isabella nods, backing away, but still clinging to her hand. “I know just where to hide.” And she leads, dragging a willing Livia with her, not looking back - not to the soldiers fighting, nor the flames and ash floating in the sky, where Escalus - 

Isabella can’t think about him now. Not yet.

Her fingers tighten around Livia’s.

When she spots the familiar building, she glances quickly around - the city is in chaos, people screaming and hiding in shadows, swords knocking together - but no one pays them any mind.

So Isabella slips into the shadows, pushing past curtains, Livia right behind her.

Livia frowns. “Where are we?” she whispers, her head so close to Isabella’s. Her breath sends the princess’ curls dancing. A pause, when Isabella shakes her head and pushes them deeper into darkness - it’s very still, as if everyone had left - to witness - 

Finally, Isabella spots an empty room. “In here.”

The sun begins to set in the tiny window in the corner of the room. The bed, messily made, sits alone and Isabella walks around it, peering out at the street. People run past -  _ her _ people, she realizes, because - 

“What happened?” asks Livia, and when Isabella turns to look at her, she finally notices how small her friend looks. It reminds her of  _ before _ \- before Escalus was sent away, before when Rosaline and Livia were her  _ friends _ , before when all she wanted was for someone to adore her the way Escalus and Rosaline did each other - 

Isabella closes her eyes. “Escalus - he was attacked - and - ” Her voice cracks and without looking, she knows Livia grabs her.

“No!” Livia shakes, both her body and her head, and Isabella holds her face still. “Paris! He  _ wouldn’t  _ \- ” Isabella frowns, because Paris is  _ dead _ , but Livia continues to ramble. “I can’t believe he - he tricked me, Isabella. Married me. But Lady Capulet and him - they wanted to kill the Prince, take over Verona - they blamed Benvolio for everything - but Rosaline - she  _ knew _ \- I found her letter - ”

Isabella doesn’t know what to do. Politics, mind games, manipulation - she understands how to rule. But with Livia in her arms, half in tears and mostly in hysterics - Isabella embraces her tightly against her chest. And Livia keeps whispering, apologies and disbeliefs and curses sinking from her lips into Isabella's heart. 

“It’s okay,” says Isabella. It’s not.

But somehow, there’s still a bit of hope that it could be.

  
  
  


Rosaline is slow to return back at their makeshift camp once the fire roars and they eat the little bread they managed to steal on their way out of the city.

So Benvolio stares at the flames, waiting her return. And Escalus leans against a tree trunk.

Benvolio can still feel the Prince’s fist in his palm.

But he can smell his blood on his hands too.

“You love her.”

Ben glances at him, saying nothing. Escalus nods. “And she loves you.”

Ben stares ahead, somewhere past the flames. Escalus nods again, this time using the branch to stand, leaning heavily upon it and hissing. Benvolio moves to help him up - but Escalus shakes his head. “No. Stay. Wait for her.” 

“Your Grace - ”

“Benvolio,” says the Prince, a sad smile on his lips and eyes quite black, “if there is one thing I have learned from this whole sordid mess - it is to listen to Rosaline Capulet.” Slowly, he moves towards the trees, out of the clearing. “Stay. I’ll be back before dawn.”

So Benvolio stays, watching the Prince of Verona limp out into the forest. He suspects Escalus sinks between some trees, between rocks and branches, far enough away to give them something resembling privacy, but not far enough that if he shouted he wouldn’t be heard.

Benvolio turns back to the fire.

The crackle is the sound in the otherwise still night; by now, he should be sick of fire and violence - but somehow, this, only one fire and a cool night is comforting. It’s not filled with screams, the blood in his mouth has dried and been cleaned.

His wrists are no longer bound. His head is firmly attached to his body.

He’s alive.

And the fire still burns.

Benvolio only feels Rosaline return, because she quietly sits beside him, just where Escalus used to be. Her hand immediately seeks his and he interlocks their fingers together, all without a word.

Even though the fire is warm, he feels her shiver when he rubs his thumb along the back of her palm. Her head rests on his shoulder; her hair tickles his neck, his skin, his mouth - she tastes like ash and blood and salt, but Benvolio wants to kiss her again.

Instead, he kisses her hair.

“When we find Livia,” he says, whispering into the black curls before turning so his cheek rests against her head instead, so he can watch the smoke die in the air, “we should restore your house.”

Rosaline’s forehead wrinkles. “My house?” Benvolio waits a beat, waits for his heart to slow - and Rosaline suddenly sits straighter, eyes targeted directly at his soul. “You don’t - ”

“I know.” 

Rosaline continues staring, searching, hard determination flickering between a tenderness in how her teeth chew her lip. His eyes flicker there but they quickly return to her eyes - her edge has always drawn him in, and now he can’t wait to jump in completely. Rosaline’s spare hand tickles his scruff, cradles his cheek. 

“Who would have thought,” she says, lips upticked and voice light and teasing, “that you of all people would fall for a Capulet.” 

Benvolio doesn’t think. He just holds her hand against his face. “Not  _ a  _ Capulet, Capulet.” Leaning his forehead against hers, he can smell her breath and support and comfort. He smiles. “You.”

Rosaline may shiver. He may imagine it. But he doesn’t imagine her pulling back, just a little, so their eyes meet. “The thought - ” she starts, her voice loud, but it cracks. She shakes her head. “The thought of being - ” She bites her lip, and this time - this time her voice is soft and steady, and his heart may burst completely. “The thought of becoming a Montague - it does not seem as horrible as it once did.”

This kiss is just as soft as their first, sweet and gentle and precious - as if Benvolio isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to have this moment again. But unlike that first time, he does not deepen it - he keeps it soft, light - mirroring how much his heart soars. He wants her to understands how she makes him feel. Like he soars over rooftops, and into the stars, because she is the sun and the moon and the entire universe, and he is merely grateful to be blessed with the opportunity to live in this time, the same time as her, with her heart in his hands.

So he cradles her face as if it’s her heart, gentle and steady and with no intention of ever letting it go.

  
  
  


When the sun rises that day, Stella expects sadness and regret.

She does not expect two strangers -  _ female _ strangers sneaking into her room, clinging to each other, covered in blood and dirt, panicked and scared.

And suddenly, Stella doesn’t feel like moping anymore.

But before she can fall to her instincts - women in need, who need support and guidance and help - she hesitates at the ajar door.

“Now, again - slowly, please.”

“Benvolio Montague is innocent,” says the one she does not immediately recognize. Capulet, Stella suspects, may be related to the one with Benvolio  _ before _ -

“And you are certain?” Stella isn’t sure, but she suspects there is a nod before the Princess continues. “And Paris - you found a note from Rosaline on him?”

“Yes.” The girl sounds on the verge of tears, but she has strength, Stella decides. Because she’s speaking slowly and steady, despite how soft her voice is. “Rosaline knew he was innocent and left with him. Paris - ” Here, though, her voice wavers completely. As if she may break. 

But the Princess recognizes this. “You married him.” 

“Yes - I didn’t - I didn’t  _ know _ \- and now I’ve made a terrible mistake and - ”

The Princess gently shushes her. “Livia, it’s okay. You didn’t know. It is  _ not _ your fault. And Rosaline would only agree with me.”

_ Livia. Rosaline _ . Stella files away information for a living, so this is nothing new.

But her curiosity - listening to private conversations - 

The fact that  _ someone else _ knows of Benvolio’s innocence - 

Stella pushes open the door.

Isabella immediately pulls Livia behind her, but Stella smiles lifting her hands up. She curtsies. “Your Grace,” she says, keeping her eyes level with the princess. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping.”

“Somehow I suspect you’re not.” Isabella glares, hard eyes and clear determination, and Stella smiles wider.

“Perhaps not.” Stella stands straight now, and Livia peers out from behind Isabella’s shoulder. “But I think I can provide assistance - in ways other than just a night’s shelter from your enemies.”

Isabella and Livia exchange a glance. Stepping forward, Livia tilts her head. “What is your name?”

“Stella.” She hesitates, fingers tangled together and avoiding the white lace of her dress. “I know - I knew - Benvolio was a - friend.”

Livia raises an eyebrow. “Friend?” 

Stella says nothing. Benvolio learned that from her.

Isabella sighs. “Can we trust you?”

“Do you have a choice?”

So the three women huddle together on the bed in candlelight, sharing hesitant secrets - and when any man calls for her, Stella politely declines - “I already have customers for the night, my Lord.”

The door will shut behind her and Stella will look over Livia’s exhausted face and Isabella’s cautiously greving one - and she can feel her chest soften, her shoulders loosen. Unlike a precious bad decision, forced upon her, threats slapped across her skin - this is a choice, not a burden, and Stella feels heart beat a little smoother.

(Isabella and Livia fall asleep on her bed. Stella sleeps at their feet.)

  
  
  


When Escalus awakes, the first thing he notices is how stiff his muscles feel.

Second is the crushing realization that he failed.

His city fights itself and here he sits, on the outskirts, in tattered clothes and bloodied, hiding. Scared. 

Relatively safe.

But his people? His people are not safe as long Paris rests in the castle.

And  _ Isabella _ \- Escalus cannot bring himself to think too long of his sister, of her situation and status. He must believe she is okay, alive and safe, and fighting - because that is who Isabella is.

But even with all the unknown in his life, Escalus can still breathe.

So he pushes himself up, slowly, and he hisses when his shoulder twitches as he places more weight on his feet. The tree he slept on is sturdy, and his fingers dig into the bark, but he has to leave it to drag his feet back to the camp.

Back to Rosaline and Benvolio.

And when he does return, he stops, standing on his own two feet, and stares.

The sun hasn’t quite risen completely, the fire they had lit the previous night now down to ash and dust. Escalus catches a glint of the faded sparks, but for the most part, it’s dark blue and gray. 

Except them.

Because even cast in the dim light, Escalus knows they glow. In fact - he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Rosaline look so beautiful. But she’s beautiful because she’s resting in Benvolio’s arm, snuggled into his chest, her arm curled around his ribs. And Benvolio cradles her, protects her, smiles when he nuzzles her hair. The dawn, like them, is still sleepy, but Escalus feels himself sink into a tree across from them.

He should look away.

But he gave them the night.

And somehow, being  _ here _ , with his - well, he knows he loves Rosaline, has for too long for that to fade at all, but perhaps seeing her with  _ him _ \- an innocent, good  _ him _ \- helps dull the ache still throbbing in his chest. The pain, Escalus notes, that is more noticeable that any arrow wound.

His broken heart leaves him numb.

The final spark of the fire disappears and Escalus sighs. Closing his eyes, he listens: the soft chirping of the waking birds, the gentle stream of a nearby creek, the deep breaths of his sleeping companions. It’s calm. It’s peaceful. It’s so unlike his last months as Prince, with responsibility on his shoulders and death on his lips.

Even with the love of his life and her new lover cuddling in front of him, Escalus finally forgets to be exhausted.

The smile that rises to his face is an easy one.

  
  
  


Conquering a castle and taking over a city feels just this side of hollow, even as the sun rises confidently above - until Paris spots Livia running towards him from just inside the castle, tears on her face and worry in her eyes; he lifts her off her feet, spinning her around, embracing her tightly as she quickly rambles.

“The soldiers! They were attacked! And I just - ran - I didn’t know what to do - ” Livia backs up and stares straight at him - her wide eyes, filled with tears, stab at his heart. “Please don’t make me leave. I want to stay. With you.”

Paris knows his face softens; his heart may have too. “My darling Livia, of course.” Caressing her face, he smiles and her lip meets his thumb. “I’m so sorry - you are the most important lady in this city and you deserve to be protected.”

Livia closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s my fault - I shouldn’t have accused you - and then, I should have been more careful - ”

“No,” he says, his grip tight on her waist. “My love, your apologies are unnecessary.” He tucks stray hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you’ve returned to me.” He leans down and kisses her.

Livia kisses back.

Paris grins. “Well, wife, shall we rule our city?”

“Of course,” she says, beaming, hands running down his chest. “I cannot imagine anyone else who I’d wish to be my Prince, husband.”

And her grip on his shirt is rough, Paris doesn’t mind; because he laughs against her lips - now he has the city, but he has his Lady too.

  
  
  


They manage to sneak back into the city, in plain sunlight, Escalus hidden in a dark cloak and walking slowly. After a night of riots and uneasy, noontime brings calm - not peace, because there are bodies resting at the side of buildings and bloodied swords snapped across the dirt. But the eerily quiet streets of Verona let them pass in secret.

When they are close to the castle - but not too close - Rosaline pauses. “We need a plan.”

Benvolio turns and frowns, his arm grazing against hers. “Ideas?”

“Well we can’t just rush in there - Paris likely has people stationed everywhere - they’re likely looking for the Prince - ”

“But we can’t waste time either, standing around,” says Benvolio, his fingers dancing with hers now. “Even if somehow Escalus’ disguise holds, you and I are bound to be recognized sooner rather than later.”

Rosaline frowns, biting her lip. Benvolio stares down at her, not unkindly, but his foot twitches in the dirt. She peers past his shoulder; Escalus does not look at either of them, perhaps ignoring them altogether, and instead stares off at the outline of the castle. “Your Grace?”

“Call me Escalus, Rosaline,” he says, still watching the distance.

Rosaline glances at Benvolio, who shrugs with a frown. “Are you okay, sir?” he asks, lifting a hand to check out the wound, but Escalus shrugs him off and shakes his head. “Escalus - ”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to use my given name, Benvolio,” says the Prince, and while his eyes are no longer cloudy, he does not look at them. When Benvolio scoffs, however, Escalus smiles slightly. “Of course, I do not mind.”

Benvolio looks over at Rosaline; but she has no idea what to do either - ever since that morning, Escalus speaks quietly, both determined and out of focus, chasing an invisible something. She’s just as lost.

“We need a plan to get into the castle, Escalus,” she says, trying to regain their attention. “You know the castle better than anyone, is there anyway - ”

“Yes.” Escalus sighs, finally, and turns to them. “But I’m going alone.” Before the response even forms on her tongue, Escalus holds up a hand. “Save your protests, Capulet, Montague,” he says, turning to each of them in turn, “this is my responsibility.”

Rosaline feels her hand form a fist. Benvolio jaw ticks and his eyes narrow. “You may be our ruler,  _ Escalus _ , but that is  _ her _ sister in there - married to a monster - and there is no way - ”

“And it is my sister, Montague, that may be dead for no other reason than she is a woman and was not allowed to rule sooner.” Escalus steps back, using his long branch to balance, and smiles sadly. “I appreciate everything the both of you have tried to do - putting your own happiness on hold for this city. I understand now - ” he stops, shaking his head and Benvolio’s fingers twitch beside her hand. “This is my journey.”

But before he can turn completely - Rosaline finds words spilling from her lips, because her heart quickens - she saved both of these men, and she has no intention of letting of them leave her now - 

“Why did you pick us?” Escalus freezes and Rosaline steps forward. She immediately misses Benvolio at her side, but he steps behind her and his support forces her back straight. “You picked the two of us, specifically - not Livia, not Benvolio’s Uncle, a widower and capable of marriage once more - but us. Why?”

Escalus looks at the ground. Kicks some dirt. His hand tenses over his branch before he finally faces them. Rosaline doesn’t think she can breathe right then, even with Benvolio’s hand coming to rest on the small of her back, not with Escalus looking so  _ tired _ \- so old. So much like his father.

Like a Prince.

“Because you survived.” 

And Escalus walks away, dragging his feet and limping with a stick, leaving Rosaline to lean against Benvolio’s chest.

  
  
  


Livia dreads the end of dinner.

But it arrives, eventually, eventfully - Paris boasts loudly to the hall of traitors that he is tried after a long day of conquering and the new Prince deserves to spend the night relaxing with his wife.

Livia smiles, laughs, blushes. And when Paris sweeps her off her feet - literally, he practically carries her to the bed chamber - Livia hides her face in his shoulder and breathes.

He smells like leather and spices; it makes her stomach ache.

When they reach the bedchambers - not theirs, not really, not when her heart threatens to break and Paris whispers to a guard, even when he stares at her with bright eyes and reverence.

Livia tugs at the lace on her dress.

The door slams closed.

It’s just them, an empty room, a warm bed.

“My darling Livia,” he says, his finger outlining her lips. Her stomach twirls, a giddy dance that leaves her breathless, while also threatening to overturn the acid in her stomach. She’s drunk on him; but the looming hangover scratches at the back of her brain.

Then Paris kisses her. He tastes like wine and meat, like bitterness and regret, and Livia pours herself into him - she lets herself wonder: does he actually love her? Does he regret trying to kill her sister?

Can she really do this?

His hand slips to her back, unlacing her dress. She lets him play with the ribbons and the lace, lets her hands pull apart the buttons on his shirt. She feels him, like she did just days before, married and joyful and  _ lies, all of it lies _ \- 

Her nails graze over his skin and Paris hisses. “Has my wife learned to be wicked in our separation?”

“Is that what my Lord desires?”

In answer, he bites her bottom lip. Livia doesn’t wince, doesn’t shake, just stays steady. She can imagine - it’s Isabella holding her now, embracing her tightly, whispering comforts into her ear and wiping her tears - her soft hands in her hair, her chest against her own - 

Livia moans. Paris growls and gently pushes her towards the bed.

When her legs hit the side of the bed, however, Livia uses his surprise to flip them, pushing him onto the bed - roughly - a hint of anger finally bubbling to the surface. He’s a murderer, a betrayer - 

He poisoned her heart with lies and false promises.

And now - 

Slowly, teasingly so, Livia stripes off her dress. Paris reaches for her, but she backs up, shaking her head, dawning what is hopefully a coy smile - 

The dress hits the floor. Paris’ eyes light up - but Livia steps back even further. She shivers. “My Lord - I think - perhaps some wine - ”

Paris laughs, sitting up, pulling Livia into his lap. “Whatever my darling wife wishes.” 

So wine appears, a servant averting his eyes as he places two glasses on table close to the door. Paris moves to retrieve them, but Livia stops him. “Let me.”

The wine smells strong; she takes a sip, standing there with her back to her husband, letting the alcohol burn her insides - burn her heart and soul, just a little more, to give her bravery, courage - 

Livia opens her eyes and her shoulders relax. The tiny vial hidden in her undergarment falls perfectly into her hands. As she pours and savers the wine of her own glass between her lips, Livia imagines Isabella - in a valley, bright sunlight, flowers in their hair, laughing and running, hands clasped together.

“Have I expressed how glad I am you decided to stay with me?”

Livia almost jumps, startled by how quietly her husband managed to sneak up behind her. The vial disappears under her own goblet - a trick Stella taught her, just in case - and Livia hands over the other. “Only a few hundred times.” Her light voice crackles in her throat, but Paris keeps grinning.

“To us, rulers of Verona. Together.” 

The goblets clink together; Paris drinks. Livia drinks.

And Livia drinks some more.

And Paris takes her cup, places both them down on the table gracefully. He pulls her towards him, and Livia immediately kisses his chest. His hands massage her shoulders. 

Livia kisses lower.

Paris lets her.

But then - when Livia in on her knees, something in her heart cracking completely, her mouth barely whispering above the skin of his navel - 

Paris starts choking.

Livia stands.

Paris falls.

And Isabella, hidden in the closet, steps out, drives her knife straight into his chest and leaves it there.

  
  
  


Escalus somehow gets all the way to the castle without spotting a single soul.

That night, he blames luck.

Later, he’ll say it’s fate.

Because the outline of a woman stands in his way, pacing across the pathway that heads straight for his bedchambers.

Escalus moves to draw his sword. “Who are you?”

The woman raises her hands slowly, but she also moves closer to the passageway. “A whore.”

Escalus almost chokes on nothing, grateful once more for the stick holding most of his weight.

The woman - the whore - crosses her arms over her chest. “No need to introduce yourself, your Grace.” If Escalus stiffens, ready to run, Stella must notice, because she shakes her head. “No need to fear - I’ve turned over a lost soul before - ” her bitter voice licks of acid and Escalus finds her melodies burn his ears in the most pleasant way, “I have no wish to do it again.”

Escalus leans against a wall. The torches lining the pathway do not do enough to brighten his space, so he squints into the darkness. “What is your name?”

A pause, a ruffle. The outline of the woman becomes a bit clearer as she steps towards a torch. “Stella.”

“Escalus.”

Stella narrows her eyes. “Why have you returned? You ran.”

He wants to deny it. “I had no choice.” Even as he says it, he winces.

But Stella leans forward, shadows flickering over her face again, and even if she’s hiding anger in her eyes and frustration on her lips, she glows. “Yet you are so guilty, you came back.”

Escalus closes his eyes. The flames still dance behind his eyelids. He feels her shadow beside him. “I’ve learned much - about my city, about my people.” He opens his eyes and finds her gaze. He smiles. “About myself.”

Stella crosses her arms over her chest. Almost shrinking, she looks softer, her ears raised higher - she’s interested in having this conversation, for whatever reason, with a complete stranger - not  _ complete _ stranger, Escalus realizes, but Stella doesn’t seem to care.

So when Stella finally asks, “what did you learn?” Escalus actually answers.

“We are all human.” Stella moves closer. It’s warm in that passageway, no windows, just tunnels and flame. But she leans against the wall beside him, and he doesn’t want to move away. “We all make mistakes. But we choose who to listen to, who to trust - and if we don’t listen to those who love us, do we really love them?”

Stella shifts.

“Why are you here?” he finally asks.

“Your sister is alive,” she answers, because her voice is softer and her eyes flicker back towards the direction of his room. “She’s in there - with Livia - Paris - ” Escalus immediately straightens, ready to run - but Stella’s hand catches his midway to his sword. “It’s taken care of.”

Her hand shakes over his. Escalus glances at them - to her pale skin reflecting in the darkness and his own blanketed completely - but Stella pulls away. Slowly.

Escalus watches her resume her pacing.

Hesitating, he feels Benvolio’s flask in the cloak around his shoulders. And he watches Stella bite her lip, arms crossed and fingers tapping against her biceps, as her nervous energy thickens the already tight space.

And he decides, in that moment, that Verona - Isabella, Livia, Paris - can wait.

Escalus stands, moving towards a new pathway - one that leads out to the castle walls, by the gardens. Stella pauses, frowning. “Where are you going?”

“Away from Verona, someday, I hope,” he says, letting the smile lifting his lips catch on his cheek. He lifts the flask. “Now, however, I’d like to get drunk.” A heartbeat. “Join me?”

Stella stares at the flask. Something akin to recognition passes over her face. “That is Benvolio Montague’s.” Escalus blinks, doesn’t know how to answer  _ that _ . But Stella’s gaze flickers to his, capturing it entirely. “He once asked me to run away with him.”

He swallows. “And what did you say?”

“Yes.” Stella shakes her head. “But then - I said no. I - ” The crack in her voice travels all the way into his ribcage; some light spills through, coating them both, because Stella steps forward. “I gave him up, because he was accused of murder, and I’m just a whore - ”

“Stella - ”

“No, I’m a whore. And that’s okay,” she says, moving even closer. He can see the pigments in her eyes, how they appear gray in the firelight. “But I - I had no choice.”

“Yet you are so guilty - and now you’re here.”

Stella blinks. Her eyes flicker down him - to the stick holding his weight, to the wound buried in his chest, back to his face - to his lips. His eyes. “He asked me to run away. And I didn’t.” Escalus tries to straighten, put more weight on his feet. Stella slips under his arm instead, holding him up, and together they move towards the gardens.

“Do you want to leave Verona, Stella?”

Only once they are outside, in the fresh air and night sky, clouds covering the stars and the crickets singing in cacophony - only there, once Escalus sits on top of a castle wall, feet dangling below, and Stella joins him - only then does she answer.

“Yes. Someday.” Her head turns and her eyes twinkle brighter than any star possibly could. “Join me?”

  
  
  


Because, of course, they sneak past the gates, Benvolio doesn’t immediately look up.

But when he does, Rosaline pulling at his wrist, he stops completely.

“What the hell - ” His jaw drops because he recognizes not only one, but  _ both _ figures swaying in the darkness, clearly visible - and  _ loud _ \- as their legs dangle from a reasonably tall wall near the gardens.

Rosaline turns to where he’s looking. “Has he lost his  _ mind _ ?” Tightening her grip on his hand, she pulls him towards the two.

Escalus brightens when they appear into view, but then confusion fills his eyebrows. Benvolio frowns, because Stella giggles into his shoulder.

“I thought I told you - ”

“We’re survivors, remember?” says Benvolio, crossing arms over his chest and avoiding Stella’s eyes. “So we survived.”

Escalus’ eyes twinkle.

Rosaline steps between the two. “Have you gone  _ mad _ ,” she repeats, voice stern - and if the situation wasn’t so perplexing - and scary - Benvolio may have taken the time to note how  _ motherly _ she sounds. 

“Paris is dead.” Escalus doesn’t look at them, but at the waning moon, his gaze flickering momentarily towards the head resting on his shoulder - as if it’s a brighter moon, a steadier anchor. 

Benvolio swallows and looks away.

Rosaline glances at him but frowns. “What about his supporters? Won’t they still - ”

Stella tilts her head, curly blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. “They are otherwise occupied.”

Her tone makes it very clear with  _ what _ they are otherwise occupied with. Or with whom.

Rosaline shifts her weight and Benvolio steps towards her. “So Paris is dead?” Stella nods and Escalus stares at the sky. “What about - ”

“Livia and Isabella are safe.” Escalus frowns, looking at Stella. “Where are they?”

“In your room.” Stella smiles softly, but Benvolio notices the hard line of worry that taints her jaw. She finally looks at him. “I’m - ” Her mouth wavers, as if there’s so many words and not enough time.

Benvolio glances at Rosaline. He understands.

Stella clears her throat. “Is sorry enough?” 

“I don’t know.” Rosaline takes his hand.

“Well - I’m sorry.” Stella sighs, sliding down from her perch. If her hand lingers on Escalus’ knee - “I’m leaving Verona. You’ll never have to see me again. I want you to be happy, Benvolio, and I hope you can find that here.” Her gaze finally rests on Rosaline. “Both of you.”

Clearly embarrassed, Rosaline studies her feet; Benvolio cannot stop a fond smile from sneaking onto his lips. “I hope so too.” 

Rosaline meets his gaze. She smiles too.

“I’m leaving too.” Escalus finally looks at them both, but really at Rosaline. The faraway look previously housed on his face has faded; now, he looks determined. 

Exhaustion still haunts his eyes, though.

“If you leave - ”

“Isabella will be Princess of Verona,” says Escalus, his feet rocking against the brick wall. “I was forced into this position. She  _ wants _ it.” He meets both their gazes head-on. “And she will need to surround herself with people that she can trust.”

Rosaline’s hand shakes but she reaches for him anyway. Benvolio squeezes her fingers. “Of course,” she says. “But what - ”

“Do not worry about me, Lady Rosaline.” Escalus looks down, at Stella, at the stick she offers him to help himself down. But instead, he tosses the stick away, using her hand - and eventually her arm - to ease himself to the ground. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he leans on her.

Benvolio intertwines his fingers with Rosaline’s.

  
  
  


(Rosaline and Benvolio find Livia and Isabella in Escalus’ bed chambers as told. 

Isabella, arms wrapped around Livia, cradling her to her chest. Tear stains down both their cheeks, but fingers loosely tucked between the crevices of the thin sheets.

Paris’ body, dead and bloodied, on the floor.

Dumping the body into the tub, Benvolio empties his flask over it. Rosaline watches, head tilting, questioning. Benvolio drops the flask too. “We can burn it in the morning.”

They curl up together on the floor, guarding with their bodies as their minds sleep.)

  
  
  


In the morning, Isabella crowns herself Princess.

Words travels quick; the coup has been contained. But Prince Escalus has passed away, leaving the Princess the sole heir - and Isabella leaves no room for any argument.

Livia remains by her side.

Stella sees Lord and Lady Capulet to the side, half-proud and half-sulking. But they sink into the shadows - and Lord Montague joins them, his fist shaking and face too sad. And when Stella looks over at Benvolio - the mirror opposite of his Uncle, holding Rosaline’s hand and grinning - she understands.

Escalus steps closer to her back. “Are you sure you this is what you want?”

Stella looks - she looks at Princess Isabella, beaming at her city, Lady Livia right beside her. She looks at Benvolio and Rosaline, framing them on the stage - positions of power and protection, of trust. She looks at the burned matches at their feet.

And when Stella looks back, at Escalus and the brothel out in the distance behind him, she nods. “I’m sure.”

Escalus doesn’t smile, but he does let his hand linger over the clasp of her brown cloak, pulling the hood forward just a bit. And Stella smiles back.

  
  
  


This coronation is somber.

There is a still celebration, but Isabella wears bright black. She is, after all, mourning.

But a ghost visits her before dinner.

“That crown fits you better than it ever did on me.” 

Escalus finds her in a secluded corner of the square, sipping a glass of wine. The shadows hide him well, so Isabella just turns and pretends she is so intoxicated she speaks to ghosts.

“What will you do, all alone?” She stares at the red liquid in her hands, so similar to blood - to the blood dripping from the arrow - 

“I won’t be alone.” Escalus’ hand rests on her shoulder. She leans into it as she catches sight of Stella, similarly hidden, whispering to Benvolio. “And you’ll be okay? I trust you to rule, but all alone - ”

Isabella glances over, where Livia sways quietly with her sister, a ghost of a smile hidden on her mourning face. “I won’t be alone either.”

They stand there, him in the shadows and her in the light, silence embracing them both; and when the weight of his hand disappears from her shoulder, she knows he’s gone.

Isabella relearns how it feels to miss her brother.

  
  
  


Isabella and Livia sneak away just after dinner, tired and restless at the same time. So when Escalus and Stella appear with their horses, Benvolio and Rosaline follow them.

“Visit often,” says Rosaline, as Stella helps Escalus up. Once he finds his footing, Stella turns to her. “Maybe someday you can return for good.”

Rosaline can’t place the smile Stella gives; she just knows it’s odd and secretive, but she recognizes it. Her heart smiles too.

Stella mounts her horse. “Take care of yourselves.” She narrows her eyes at Benvolio, but Rosaline knows she addresses her. “Take care of each other.”

“Same to you,” says Benvolio, smiling. It’s a rare sight and Rosaline feels warmer. “You are more than - ”

“And so are you.” Stella smiles completely now and Rosaline sees the beauty that has captured so many men - but the sincerity in her lips feel bigger now, more important. “You’re not alone.”

Rosaline doesn’t need to look to know that Benvolio stiffens beside her; but Stella just turns her horse, riding a little ways, and Escalus shakes his head. “She’s right,” he says, looking straight at Rosaline. “You’re not alone either.”

Rosaline inches towards Benvolio. “You are a good man, Escalus.”

He smiles wryly as he adjusts his grip on the reigns. “Maybe. But I’d like to be great.” When Rosaline cracks a smile, Escalus laughs. “But until then, I’ll take just being alive.”

“A dear gift indeed.” Benvolio grins and while Escalus’ face may falter just a bit - the smiles they all exchange feel genuine.

Rosaline feels tears growing in her throat.

“Goodnight, Lady Rosaline,” says Prince Escalus.

“Goodnight, Escalus.” 

Escalus rides until he meets Stella. Their laughter echoes in the silent valley.

And when they take off, Benvolio sneaks his hand into hers.

“Is this it? The end?”

Rosaline glances over, her thumb running over the back of his palm. Benvolio still stares out at the sunset, where the tiny dots that are their former lovers growing smaller in the distance. Rosaline watches them disappear.

“Do you want it to be the end?”

Benvolio turns to her now, completely and totally, but Rosaline stays looking out. She doesn’t think she could look him in the eyes right now, not with her heart pounding hard and her throat aching with words she wants to  _ scream _ . But Benvolio kisses her knuckles. “I want a happy end.”

“Your happy ending is up to you.” Rosaline feels her voice rise in octaves, but Benvolio doesn’t comment. Likely because he understands.

He always understands.

And when Benvolio pulls her into his chest, arm wrapped around her waist and their interlocked hands resting between their hearts, Rosaline knows he always will too.

“Then all I need is you.”

They kiss.

  
  
  


(So this time, when Benvolio and Rosaline stand on stage with hands bound in ribbon, Escalus and Stella stare out, hidden in the crowd, with secret smiles on their faces. Isabella and Livia stand beaming beside them, in front of the crowd, as the couple becomes one. And this time, they don’t break the ribbon until they are lying in their new shared chambers, together, with all the same intentions.

And - this time, the next morning Benvolio just has to turn over to spend more time with her. No mysteries, no Uncles to request permission to court her, no mad men in masks framing him for murder.

This time, it’s just the sunlight and Rosaline.)


End file.
